


'Tis the Season

by mishallaneously



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M, WIP, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishallaneously/pseuds/mishallaneously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of recent tragedy, Castiel Novak finds surviving the holiday season nearly impossible. A run in with one Dean Winchester promises to remedy that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel still can’t really feel his fingers. He’s been inside this Starbucks for who knows how long yet he’s still cold. Cold and tired and impatiently waiting in this impossibly long line. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s only one register open and it seems like there are only two people actually making the onslaught of complicated orders, but the line is moving slower than ever. He wants to groan but he knows the hell of the public service industry and watches the harried workers with sympathy rather than contempt. He yawns instead, the sound of it momentarily drowning out the cheery Christmas music filling the store. It’s barely past Thanksgiving and already the Christmas spirit is overwhelming. Castiel sighs, he used to love Christmas but this year it’s wrong, it’s too much. Each lyric of “Jingle Bell Rock” seems to echo loudly within the aching hollowness he feels these days. He grimaces, when did he turn into such a downer? He attributes it to the earliness of the morning and the fact that the line still hasn’t moved.

He’s finally almost to the register. He can nearly taste the sweet relief of caffeine and the steaming hot liquid warming its way through his insides, his only solace on days like today when the sky hangs heavy with unshed rain and the cold bites at face, stinging his cheeks and nose, where the full workday looms before him. The man in front of him, the one with the army green jacket and the layered flannel, keeps eyeing the menu, lips silently working their way around the strange names of the more complex drinks. Apparently not a Starbucks regular, Castiel muses. Castiel half toys with the idea of leaning over and sharing a drink suggestion, but it would hardly be his place. Plus, that would require him being outgoing. That was something the old Castiel would have done. Butting into personal space and joining conversation with a quirky sort of charm just because he revelled in human interaction, because he delighted in making someone’s day or finding out what their favorite book was. Those days were long gone, faded into the past like the memory of a distant summer called upon to ease the suffering of a seemingly endless winter. Now he simply sticks to the coffee, only the coffee. Shy, empty smiles and muttered orders get him through the process, because that’s all this is now, a process. This is a routine. A source of caffeine. And plus, he reasons with himself, he couldn’t resort back to his more social ways, that would put him off schedule and he really has to get to the office on time, Naomi is a stickler for punctuality. He’s already been subject to Naomi’s wrath more times than he’d like and he’d rather stay on her good side. At least until the holidays are over. He could really use that raise to get his niece something nice. Claire hasn’t been the same since September, neither has Amelia, or Castiel for that matter, but he’d rather not think about it. The feeling of dread has quickly started to choke him, it’s icy fingers closing around his throat, no, he can’t think about Claire or Amelia or… or anything about September for that matter. Instead he focuses on the man in front of him.

This stranger seems kind. He’s rough around the edges, with a downward curve of his mouth and a coarseness to his clothing, yet there are laugh lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes and freckles dotting his cheeks. Maybe in another life they would be friends. Castiel would like that. He didn’t have enough friends.

 

Castiel doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until the stranger’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. “Yeah Sammy, I know it’s asscrack ‘o clock but what the hell kind of girly drink did you want? I can’t remember the name.” He speaks softly, gruffly, into his phone, but with affection, as if this “Sammy” were his whole world. Castiel wishes someone could hold so much feeling when talking to him about something so mundane. He likes to think that’s how Jimmy sounded when they spoke on the phone. But the last time they spoke was months ago. The last time they would ever speak. Castiel shakes the unpleasant thought from his head. He has successfully managed to avoid thinking about those things for months, yet for some reason his mind keeps betraying him. “Yeah okay, go back to sleep, princess. Can’t have you being sick when Santa comes.” There’s a muted sound of protest coming from the man’s phone, the man laughs and ends the call. He steps up to the register to order, fumbling a little bit over the names of the drink for whomever Sammy was. Castiel eyes the menu himself, feeling self-conscious of all the staring he’s probably doing. Jimmy always gave him a hard time for doing that. He smiles sadly to himself at the thought. Maybe he’d stray from his typical black coffee and get one of the festive drinks, maybe something new would help him out of this funk.

“I’m sorry sir, we don’t accept that card here,” the barista says, her voice weary.

“What? Are you kidding?” The stranger gapes.

“I’m afraid not. These are the cards we accept.” She points to the laminated sign stuck to the counter.

“That’s my only card.” The man scrubs his face wearily. “I don’t have any cash.” Castiel bites his lip. This man has waited just as long, if not a little longer than he has, and he has someone at home waiting for this drink. Someone whom this man deeply cares about. Castiel feels the need to intervene pulling at him. He’s momentarily shocked by the urge, he hasn’t felt something this strong for a long time, come to think of it, he doesn’t even remember the last time he truly felt something at all. He opens his mouth but his words die on his lips, his mouth dry.

The barista nods sympathetically. “We can put this on hold for you if you want. There’s an ATM down the street.” The man shakes his head.

“No, I can’t. Look, I’m sorry for the trouble but just forget about it-”

“I can cover it.” Castiel butts in before he realizes what he’s doing, his wallet already out of his pocket.

“What? No, man, it’s fine.” The man turns to Castiel, a blush climbing up his neck.

“Please, it’s no trouble.” He’s in the process of handing the bills over to the barista, the man’s mouth is agape.

“Seriously,” he grabs Castiel’s arm, stopping him from completing the transaction. Castiel contemplates the man’s hand, his firm grip, with pursed lips, his fingers are most likely wrinkling his dress shirt yet the touch thrills Castiel. Interesting. “I ain’t a charity case, keep your money.”

Castiel meets his eyes, slightly bloodshot and a green that reminds Castiel of that time he saw the Chicago River on St. Patrick’s Day, and smiles. He’s pleasantly surprised that it reaches his eyes. “Sir, please, we’re holding up the line, and it’s honestly no trouble. ‘Tis the season, afterall.”

“Fine. ‘Tis the season,” he grumbles in resignation. Castiel hands the money over to the barista after adding his own order in, of course. He wonders if the warm feeling in his chest is his small heart growing three sizes.

“Name?” The barista asks, Castiel looks to the man standing awkwardly behind him.

“Oh, uh, Dean.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and avoids making eye contact with Castiel. The barista scribbles the name on the cup.

“And yours?”

“Jimmy.” The name comes out before Castiel can stop himself. It’s a force of habit, really. Saying his real name is too complicated, it arouses too many clarifying questions, too many pitiful attempts at getting it right by phonetics alone. It’s always been easier to use his twin brother’s name. It’s never been busy enough in a Starbucks in the time since September to require Castiel to give a name for his order. Castiel makes a small choking noise, a combination of surprise and sadness, that the barista luckily doesn’t notice. The man behind him, Dean, does however. “Um, excuse me.” Castiel says, voice shaky, as he attempts to nonchalantly rush to the bathroom.

A splash of cold water to the face and a series of deep, calming breaths later, Castiel exits the bathroom. Dean is there, leaning against the wall, a drink carrier with three drinks in it clutched in his hands and concerned lines etched into his face. His eyes brighten when he sees Castiel who stands still, unsure what he’s meant to do in this situation. He did a nice thing for Dean, but that doesn’t mean the man is indebted to him. Dean holds out a small cup of coffee to Castiel who takes it cautiously. He lifts it up to his lips slowly, wary of the temperature.

“You alright there, Jimmy? You ran off kinda quick back there, sorta like you saw a ghost or something,” Dean asks good naturedly. Castiel freezes mid drink. The coffee burns his tongue slightly. He pulls the cup away from his lips, eyes wide. He can feel his lip start to tremble.

“What- What did you call me?” He asks, voice cracking slightly. Dean’s brow furrows.

“Uh, your name?” He points to the name scribbled hurriedly on Castiel’s cup.

“No, it’s not mine. It’s not- It’s not anyone’s.” Castiel says in one breath, shaking his head quickly back and forth, shaking away the ache of loss that comes with remembering. His knees start to shake, betraying his carefully constructed facade of a well-adjusted person. “Not anymore.” He says softly, more to himself than to Dean. He hears it however, understanding lighting up his face, smoothing out the lines of confusion.

“Hey man, why don’t we go sit down?” Castiel feels warm hands on his back, guiding him toward the plush leather chairs. He lets himself be led, happy to relinquish control. Thoughts he had so carefully pushed into the dark recesses of his mind are swirling about, demanding to be thought. Castiel sits, places his coffee out of the way on the table and rests his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Now not only is he embarrassed in front of this stranger but he’s bound to be late now. He sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually make a habit of having mental breakdowns in Starbucks.” He looks up wearily. Dean is seated across from him, sipping absentmindedly on his drink. Sammy’s drink is untouched on the table. He looks up once he notices Castiel is speaking to him and reaches to pat his knee, the corner of his mouth raises in a half-smile. Small as the gesture is it manages to momentarily distract Castiel.

“‘Tis the season,” Dean remarks dryly. Castiel barks out a dry laugh.

“Yes, ‘tis the season indeed.”

“So, um, you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” Castiel sits up straight and attempts to regain some semblance of composure.

“Yeah, no, I get it. We’ve all been there, man.” Dean runs a hand through his light brown hair. “So, uh, thanks for spotting me back there. I know there are all these stories about random acts of kindness and whatnot, but I’ve never witnessed one like that and it, uh, it was really something.” He smiles genuinely while he speaks and Castiel forgets for a minute that he’s sad at all. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel.”

“Interesting name.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Guess that’s why you used that other name?” Dean asks, his tone gentle, cautious. Castiel nods, biting his lip.

“Yes, my parents were kinder when they named my brother.” The color visibly drains from Dean’s face. He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it soon after. Castiel takes pity on him and makes a show of checking his watch. “I should really get to work.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. I guess I should get my brother his chai tea latte.” Dean says as he picks up the other cup. So Sammy was his brother. “It was real nice talking to you, Cas. Thanks again for helping me out.” He grins then and pats Cas on the shoulder as he makes his way out of the shop. A strange morning, indeed.

Castiel spends the entirety of his work day avoiding the pointed glares from his boss and attempting to make sense of the words on the pages in front of him. He’s meant to be proofreading and editing the manuscripts on his desk but all he can think of is kind green eyes and a warm, comforting smile willing to listen to his problems. He thinks of Dean all day, what he’s doing at that moment, how Sam is feeling, had his drink gotten cold by the time Dean had gotten home? It’s really very distracting. It’s when he’s deep in one of these thoughts on his way out of the office that he nearly walks straight into the person talking to Charlie Bradbury, the secretary.

“Oh, pardon me.” He says without looking up.

“Not a problem, Cas.” Castiel freezes. He lifts his eyes from his feet and there’s Dean.

“Dean?”

“The one and only.” His smile is just as dazzling as this morning, even more so because Castiel can appreciate it more now that he’s not trying to keep himself from falling apart.

“It’s nice to see you, Dean. However, I would have thought twice about paying for a stranger’s cup of coffee this morning if I had known he would become my new stalker.” Castiel says dryly, lifting an accusing eyebrow.

“Whoa, Cas, I have feelings, you know?” Dean clutches his heart, feigning offense.

“He’s very sensitive, Castiel.” Charlie pipes up from behind her desk. “You should see him when he watches any Disney movie.”

“Good one, Bradbury, but everyone knows you’d have to be soulless to not at least tear up during Up.” Castiel watches the exchange with a sort of confused amusement. “Anyway, Cas, I wasn’t actually stalking you, I was bringing Charlie here a fruit cake along with the manuscript for my novel which apparently keeps getting lost in the mail.” He squints accusingly at Charlie who shrugs helplessly.

“You might have better luck elsewhere, our management seems to intentionally lose any work that has any redeeming qualities.” Castiel scoffs. Dean seems unphased.

“Anyway Cas, why don’t we blow this joint? Charlie, I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“I’m counting on it, Winchester!” She calls after them.

Castiel doesn’t know how it came to be, but he finds himself leaving work with Dean. They stand in the elevator in companionable silence. The only noise comes from the rustling noises of Castiel putting on his oversized beige trenchcoat, previously slung over his arm. They walk out of the building and are about to head in different directions, Dean to the parking lot and Castiel to the street when Dean stops him.

“Hey, Cas, I know this doesn’t really improve my whole “not a stalker” reputation, but uh, I noticed you walked here from the coffee shop.”

“You’re very observant, Dean.” Castiel deadpans. Dean laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah I try. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted a ride home. Especially since uh, it’s starting to rain.” As if on cue, the light sprinkling turns into a steady rainfall. Castiel clutches his coat tighter.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Awesome. Well I’m just over here.” Dean leads him to a big, black car, polished and gleaming even in the rain.

“This is quite the car, Dean.”

“Damn right, Cas. She’s my pride and joy.

The interior of the car is just as well-maintained as the outside. There’s a faint smell of coffee and rolls of wrapping paper stashed in the backseat. There is what Castiel believes to be holly hanging from the rearview mirror.

“Are you a fan of the holidays, Dean?” Dean glances away from the road and smiles broadly. As if in response he turns up the dial on the radio. The car is immediately flooded with Jackson Five’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. “I guess you could say that.” Castiel can’t help himself from wrinkling his nose. Dean doesn’t notice and taps out the drum beat on the steering wheel.

“I see.” He really does his best to sound upbeat, but he’s pretty sure his tone falls flat, uninterested and hollow.

“What, Cas, you not a fan of Christmas?” Dean asks over the music.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost the Christmas spirit,” He mutters. Dean turns down the music and looks over at Cas. His brow is raised in concern.

“Well shit, Cas, good thing you found me. Not only am I awesome at finding shit- ask my brother, Sam, that kid lost his soccer cleats at least once a week in middle school- but I’ve got a knack for Christmas.” The current song fades out and “Santa Baby” comes on, Dean immediately hits the fast forward button. “It’s, uh, it’s a mix tape. My mom’s.”

“I’m sure.” Cas replies, amused. The blush coloring Dean’s cheeks brings out his freckles.

“She gave it to me, you asshole.” Dean punches his shoulder playfully. “But in all seriousness, do you need me to be your ghost of Christmases past, present, and future, Mr. Scrooge?” Castiel groans. They come to a stop at a stoplight and Dean turns to Cas expectantly.

“I’m not going to say it.”

“Dude, excusing your slip up of charity this morning, you’re basically textbook Ebenezer Scrooge right now. You gotta. Or I’m not moving this car another inch.” The light changes to green and Dean’s foot stays pressed on the brake.

“Getting into this car with you was a mistake.” The first horn sounds behind them. Soon another car joins in and yet Dean still doesn’t go. “Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer” plays in the background.

“C’mon Cas, you’ve got some folks pretty angry at you.” One person is now just laying on the horn.

“Fine. Bah humbug.” Castiel says indignantly. He petulantly huffs and folds his arms across his chest. Dean laughs triumphantly and steps on the gas. The song fades out and a new one starts. Dean turns up the volume.

“Hey Cas, here’s a song for you!” Castiel listens, still unsure what song it is. Dean sings along as the lyrics start. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch, you really are a heel.” Castiel rolls his eyes, laughing.

“I’m hardly trying to ruin Christmas, Dean. In fact, I’m offended.” He pushes the fast forward button. “Turn left on this next street.”

Dean pulls up in front of Castiel’s small blue house right as Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” starts to play. Castiel’s amusement is gone as quickly as it had come, his laughter dies in his throat.

“Well, here you are Mr. Scrooge, your grand estate.” Dean says, tipping an imaginary cap. When Cas doesn’t respond he nudges him. “You okay, man?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, sorry. Could you, um, could you change the song?” Castiel swallows hard and shut his eyes, hoping against hope that the memories won’t come. Dean turns off the music all together, he kills the ignition and turns to face Cas. The pained expression on his face must give him away because Dean places his hand on Cas’ knee. Dean doesn’t say anything and Cas is thankful for it, yet he knows he owes Dean an explanation.

“That was-” his voice comes out pinched so he clears his throat, “that was my brother’s favorite Christmas song. He um, he was like you, a big fan of all things Christmas. And when Christmas came around he was pretty much the rallying force behind everything merry. I guess I, um, lost my Christmas spirit when I lost my brother.” He laughs darkly at the realization. Dean looks at him, his eyes brimming with emotion. Without saying anything he pulls Castiel into a big hug. Castiel is stiff at first, unused to close contact but soon he melts into the hug, his face pressed against Dean’s firm chest. Dean, in an incredibly intimate gesture, rests his chin on Cas’ head.

“I don’t know what that’s like, Cas, and I don’t ever want to know what that’s like. I’m so incredibly sorry, my brother is my whole world and to lose that- shit, that’d be like losing a part of myself. I lost my mom when I was a kid, so I know what loss is like, but man, that’s rough.” He says softly, voice muffled by Cas’ hair.

“I’m sorry about your mother, Dean, she had an excellent taste in Christmas songs.”

“Quiet, you, I’ve had more than 20 years to deal with that and you’ve had-”

“About three and a half months.”

“Holy shit, Cas.” Dean hugs him tighter.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m okay. It’s just strange living without your twin.” Castiel isn’t crying, he hasn’t cried for Jimmy in a long time, but the ache he feels is more demanding now than usual. Dean’s warmth and his words ease it significantly.

“Fuck, your twin?!”

“Yes, Jimmy was my identical twin.”

“Jesus, Cas. Okay. Well, shit.” Dean lets go of Cas then and stares at him in bewilderment. “I don’t know how you’re as put together as you are, I’d be a mess.”

“I’d hardly consider myself ‘put together’, but thank you.” The rain outside has increased and it pounds on the windshield. Dean fiddles with the holly on his mirror.

“Y’know, I was kidding before about finding your Christmas spirit, but I’m going to do it. I’m gonna make you have a great Christmas, for Jimmy and yourself.”

“Dean, that’s awfully kind of you, but you don’t have to, really. It’s no big deal, I never got into the holidays as much as he did anyway, I’m okay with cutting my losses.”

“Cas, this isn’t negotiable. I’ll pick you up from work tomorrow, same time?” Dean smiles cockily. Castiel sighs. There’s no harm in humoring Dean, he reasons.

“Yes, fine.” Castiel moves to exit the car but Dean stops him.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up Cas, lemme come around with the umbrella. It’s raining cats and dogs out there.” Castiel squints in confusion. Dean winks flirtatiously. “I’m a gentleman after all, Cas. Stay right there, don’t want you getting wet.”

“I hope you’re not expecting a goodnight kiss.” Castiel says as he steps out of the car, Dean holding the umbrella above his head.

“What kind of man do you take me for, Castiel Novak? Your father would have my head for desecrating your honor anyway.” This is too much, Castiel thinks, but he is certainly enjoying himself. They reach the front door and say their goodbyes with a promise of tomorrow. Castiel watches out his window as Dean drives away and finds himself happier than he’s been in months. It seems he was right in his first impression of the stranger standing in front of him this morning, Dean is certainly kind.


	2. O Christmas Tree

Castiel walks out of the office building the next day to see a familiar black car parked at the curb. Dean is leaning against the car drinking a cup of coffee, another Starbucks cup is clasped in his other hand. He straightens up when he sees Castiel.

“You ready for the 25 days of Christmas Dean Winchester style?” He says smiling, holding out the coffee to Castiel. The warmth seeps through the cup loosening his already-stiff-from-the-cold fingers.

“Dean, there are already less than 25 days until Christmas.”

“Whatever man, ABC Family shouldn’t get all the fun. I’m appropriating the name.” He winks at Cas who can’t help the blush that follows. “Anyway, get in, we got shit to do, Christmas cheer to spread, you get the picture.” He opens the door for Cas and goes around to the driver’s side.

Castiel examines the cup in his hands as Dean drives. The silence is companionable which is unusual for Castiel. Apparently, according to many sources, he has a tendency to make things “awkward” and “uncomfortable.”

“Dean, this cup, it has my name on it.” His name is there, messily scrawled on the side of the cup.

“You bet your ass your name is there. Took me a solid two minutes and a line full of angry customers to get them to spell it right. No wonder you never use it.” He glances over at Castiel before focusing back on the road.

“That was very kind of you, I’ve never had my name on anything like this before.” It shouldn’t mean a lot to him, but for some reason the gesture makes Castiel warmer inside than the coffee clutched in his hand.

Dean ducks his head shyly. “It was no big deal, man. Don’t mention it.” Cas nods and presses his lips together, shutting the floodgates on the well of gratitude bubbling up in his chest.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Dude, it’s like December-” Dean pauses to check his phone “ _twelfth_ and your house is empty!” Dean gestures wildly around Castiel’s sparsely decorated living room.

“I wouldn’t say empty. I have flowers.” Castiel isn’t much for interior decorating but he’s made sure each room has a little splash of color from the flowers he grows in his backyard. Or picks up at the florist when the winter chill kills his daffodils.

“I wasn’t talking about the flowers, Cas.” He scrubs a weary hand down his face. “Your Christmas decorations, man! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I expected it to be less than satisfactory, but I thought you’d at least have a _tree_ or even a nutcracker lying around.”

“I’m allergic to most nuts, why would I-”

“It’s- it’s a Christmas thing.” Dean says, his tone incredulous.

“Ah. I don’t believe I have any Christmas decorations.” Castiel sits down in his worn leather armchair next to the bookcase and ponders. If he had any they’d be in the garage, but all he had were the childhood ornaments his mother had him keep after his father left and she could no longer bear any reminder of him or that time. Jimmy had taken custody of that box though, he had more use for them, what with his family and all.

“Maybe we should rename the 25 Days of Christmas Dean Winchester Style to Extreme Makeover: Castiel’s Christmas Edition.” Dean says as he scans the bookshelf, absentmindedly tracing the spines with his pointer finger as he reads the titles.

“Yes, it has a much better ring to it,” Castiel adds thoughtfully.

“And I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me. I’ll probably need to enlist the help of a whole neighborhood to get you into tip top Christmas shape.”

“Do you not have responsibilities? Obligations? A job to work? An ailing brother to tend to?” Castiel says, worried. Dean seems to be devoting copious amounts of time to this lost cause. He’s happy to go along with it though, it’s added a degree of excitement to his life he hasn’t had in months. Maybe years, if he’s being honest.

“Okay, first of all Sam just has a cold and a case of bitchiness, he’s fine. And yeah, I got a job but the scheduling is flexible, don’t worry about it, man. I’m not abandoning my whole life for you. I mean, I like you, but I don’t like you that much.” Dean pauses on one book and pulls it from its spot on the shelf. “Hey, you like _Frankenstein_?”

Castiel furrows his brow at the sudden subject change. Does Dean not wish to discuss his occupation? He humors him nonetheless. “Yes, I found Shelley’s “hideous progeny” quite relatable, both Victor and the Creature. It’s one of my favorite books.”Dean nods as Castiel speaks, holding the book with reverence.

“Yeah, me too.” He says softly, flipping through some of the pages. Castiel observes him, feeling as if he’s intruding on a private moment. Dean remembers himself and clears his throat, placing the book back carefully. “Right, yeah. Where were we?”

“You were insulting my interior decorating.” Castiel folds his arms across his chest for emphasis.

“For the last time, I was only insulting your lack of literally _anything_ Christmas related.”

“And regretting your promise to assist me in rectifying it?”

“No, shut up. We’re getting you a tree. No time to spare.” Castiel groans and hauls himself out of the chair.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

They pull up into the Christmas tree lot. It’s bustling with activity and it takes them a bit of time and a lot of swearing on Dean’s part until they find a parking spot. The ground outside is muddy and Castiel wishes he had the foresight to change out of his work shoes. He steps out of the car tentatively and grimaces when hears the squelch of mud. Dean is already heading toward the entrance so Castiel grits his teeth and resolves that the mud will come out with some scrubbing and follows after him.

His breath curls into the air in puffs. It’s much colder than he expected. He hugs himself for warmth. Dean raises an eyebrow, “Where’s your coat?” Castiel looks down at himself. Oh, he’s not wearing it.

“I seem to have forgotten it.” He shrugs helplessly. Dean groans exaggeratedly and begins taking his leather jacket off. “Dean, no, what are you doing? I’m fine.” Unfortunately, a gust of wind blows and sets Castiel’s teeth chattering.

“Relax, I’m set,” he tugs on the multiple layers under the jacket and gestures to the green scarf wrapped around his neck. Castiel, despite the biting cold, is glad he doesn’t offer the scarf to him, the green does wonders for his eyes. He hands the jacket to Castiel.

“Dean, no, you’ll be cold.” He refuses to take it.

“Cas, c’mon, you’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.” Castiel focuses intently on keeping his teeth from chattering.

“Take the damn jacket. I don’t want frostbite to taint your Christmas tree experience.” Dean gives him an insistent look and nudges the jacket at him again. Castiel takes it reluctantly. He carefully inserts his arms into the sleeves and is immersed in warmth mostly from Dean’s lingering body heat. He looks down at himself, the sleeves are too big and the shoulders are too broad. It’s warm though, and Castiel exhales in relief.

“See what’d I tell you?” Castiel glares at Dean’s smug smirk. He rolls his eyes.

“Thank you, Dean.” Dean nods, satisfied and leads the way to the Christmas trees. Castiel trails behind slightly, his dress shoes sticking in the mud. He tucks his chin into the collar of the jacket to ward off the cold. The smell of Dean engulfs him, a tantalizing mixture of the worn leather of the jacket and a spicy, musky scent that is so distinctly Dean. The scent triggers the memory of their hug and the way his face was pressed directly into the source. The memory is nice but Castiel winces in embarrassment as he recalls it. He’s not one to show so much emotion, especially not to a complete stranger, and to be so vulnerable. But there is something about Dean that he finds comforting, something familiar, and trustworthy. He brushes off the feeling and catches up with Dean who is waiting near the entrance to the tent with all the Christmas trees.

“Took you long enough.” His eyes are fond.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Dean bristles.

“Like you’re…,” Castiel hesitates, carefully choosing the right word. “Sentimental.” Dean’s eyes widen.

“Uh, I dunno. I guess that jacket, uh, it suits you.” He shrugs. Castiel thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if Dean looked at him like that more often. The thought startles him. Has he already subconsciously made Dean a fixture of his life? He considers the man walking next to him out of the corner of his eye. He’s certainly attractive with his light brown hair and bright green eyes, his tanned, lean body and the freckles dotting his cheeks like constellations. But Castiel cares more about the kindness he’s been shown in the mere days he’s known Dean. The warmth that Dean has caused that’s been seeping into the cold fissures of Castiel’s heart, the parts of him he had deemed a lost cause months ago. How Dean is slowly making Jimmy’s death more palatable. Dean snaps his fingers in front of Castiel’s face.

“Now who’s the one with the weird look? Stop spacing out Cas, we got serious business to attend to.” He brandishes his arm, presenting the seemingly endless tent and the sea of green Christmas trees before them.

“Where do we start?” Castiel feels intimidated by the sheer number of trees. He’s had Christmas trees before, but he was never active in their selection. Dean holds Christmas trees in a high regard, it seems, he treats the subject with a type of solemn respect, as if they are of the utmost importance.

“It’s your tree.” Dean holds his hands up in defense, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Lead this ship in whichever direction you choose, Captain.” Dean flashes him a crooked smile and salutes him. Castiel groans.

“I assumed you were an expert on this matter. You stressed that having a Christmas tree was the be-all end-all of Christmas.” Castiel says, exasperated.

“Well, it is. You hang your ornaments on it, you put your presents under it, the Whos from Whoville sang that creepy worship song around it. But like, I can’t choose your Christmas tree. It’s a right of passage.” Dean replies matter-of-factly.

“As charming as it is to hear you wax poetic about Christmas trees, I’m freezing just standing here.” Dean interrupts him with a triumphant shout.

“So you _were_ cold! I knew it!” Castiel rolls his eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time that night.

“That is beside the point. Let’s just start at the beginning until I find one we both deem acceptable. You don’t have anything to do tonight right?” Dean shakes his head.

“Nah I got the night off, I’m all yours.” Dean slings his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and the two walk down the first row of Christmas trees.

“What is it you do anyway, Dean?” Castiel looks up at him earnestly. Dean turns from the tree he’s inspecting.

“Aside from an aspiring writer? I tend bar down at the Roadhouse.” Dean looks the tree up and down and shakes his head.

“What was wrong with that one?” Castiel can’t see anything the matter.

“Dry and there’s a huge gap in the branches around the base. C’mon Cas, try not to look like such an amateur.” Dean strolls down the row, blatantly ignoring some trees. Cas supposes he knows better than many.

“I _am_ an amateur, in case you’ve forgotten.” Dean laughs at him and ruffles his hair affectionately. Castiel scowls. “What was that for?”

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.” Dean winks salaciously at him. Castiel is sure he’s beet red.

“I am neither of those things.”

“Whatever you say, Cas.” He bumps his shoulder into Castiel’s playfully. “C’mon, let’s go look at the firs, I’m not big on these spruces.” Castiel didn’t know there was a difference in the trees under the tent but he nods anyway.

They walk further into the depth of the trees. The smell is tantalizing. It brings Castiel back to Christmases when he was younger and, more recently, when he would stay with Jimmy and Amelia in Pontiac, Illinois for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

“Is the Roadhouse a bar?” Castiel breaks the silence, inquiring again about Dean’s job. He’s been incredibly vague concerning it.

“Oh, yeah. The best in Lawrence. I mean, if you ask Ellen.” Castiel’s confused look prompts Dean to clarify. “The owner. She’s a close family friend.” Dean elaborates no further. Castiel decides to nudge the conversation along even more.

“Do you like being a bartender?” Dean leads them into a different row of trees. He mulls Castiel’s question over for a minute, chewing the edge of his lip.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s not bad, fun sometimes. Meet lots of people that way.” Castiel feels like there’s a caveat to that statement but it never comes. Dean turns the tree around for the 360 degree inspection that Castiel couldn’t care less about.

“What’s wrong with the job?” Castiel pries.

“What makes you think something’s wrong with it?” There’s a hard edge to Dean’s tone that he’s never heard before. A defensive edge.

“Your lackluster answer.” Dean sighs.

“I’m nearly 28 and I’m stuck tending bar. I just feel like I should’ve accomplished more by now and I have, kinda, but no one will publish my goddamn book.” He scuffs the ground with the toe of his boot in frustration. Castiel is no stranger to the feeling, but he’s learned to accept it, to deal with it and move on. If he had his choice he wouldn’t work at that horrible publishing firm that cares nothing for talent and everything for money. Working there is both a slight to his integrity and his intelligence alike. But it pays the bills.

“I understand.” Castiel grabs Dean’s shoulder and squeezes it in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.

“Do you, though?” Dean locks eyes with him. His eyes are wide and searching.

“Yes, Dean. I’m in a similar situation myself, I believe.”

“Well then I’m sorry. For both of us miserable losers.” He laughs hollowly.

“I’m going to try my best to get your manuscript approved for publication.” Dean perks up at this. He opens his mouth to speak but Castiel cuts him off. “Do not get your hopes up. While I attempt this you should definitely pursue other options. There is something rotten in Elysium Publishing.” Dean nods earnestly.

“I will, but I paid that guy, uh, Zachariah Adler?” Castiel swallows thickly. Oh no. “Yeah, he said he’d get me published for a premium. I’ll look elsewhere, trust me, I will, but I don’t want to lose that money.” Of course Adler had gotten to him, Castiel thinks grimly. He’s heard rumors of how the firm lures aspiring writers into deals with the promise of publishing but never with the intention to carry out the promise.

“I’ll do my best, Dean.”

“Thanks Cas, that means a lot.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They finally pick a tree, Castiel wishes they could get one of the potted, still alive ones, but Dean has a point when he says there’d be no way to fit it in the Impala. The tree is full and tall and it takes some team work to haul it to the register to pay. Dean tries to pay for it himself but Castiel has none of that. Getting the tree home is another ordeal altogether.

The high school boys that work at the lot heft the tree onto the roof of the Impala and latch it down with twine and some bungee cords Dean keeps in the back. Castiel squeezes Dean’s arm reassuringly as the climb on top of the car and each time a branch rubs the roof the wrong way.

“They’re gonna scratch the fucking roof.” Dean grits out. His shoulders are tense and his hands are balled into fists at his side.

“Dean, I assure you, everything will be fine. They know what they’re doing.” Castiel rubs his arm soothingly. He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath. Luckily for everyone involved, the tree is secured without incident and they drive it home. Dean pauses in his driveway and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Of course you’re the only house without Christmas lights.” Castiel purses his lips and considers his block. Sure enough every other house is lit up brightly, many have lawn decorations dotting their property. Castiel’s house sits in the middle of two extremely decorated houses sad and dark.

“I suppose you’re going to offer to hang up Christmas lights for me?”

“Well we can’t have you bringing down the whole neighborhood, can we?”

“It would be a travesty.” Dean laughs hard and Castiel thinks it’s the most wonderful sound he has heard in a long time.

They set up the tree with little difficulty though Castiel does get showered in loose fir needles. Dean doesn’t hesitate to pluck them out of his hair, his face screwed up in a look of serious concentration as he does so. Dean offers to stay and help trim the tree but right as he does his phone rings. Castiel is secretly glad because he’s pretty sure he has nothing to properly trim the tree with.

“It’s my brother, I gotta run, but raincheck!” Dean says and give Castiel a quick hug goodbye. “Wait, but before I got, gimme your phone.” Dean waggles his fingers impatiently and Castiel hands it over. Dean taps something quickly into it and then holds it in front of his face before making a dumb face. He considers the product for a minute then decides against it with a shake of his head. Before Castiel knows what’s happening, Dean pulls him close to him.

“Make a dumb face, Cas, we gotta make my contact photo a good one.” Dean loops his arm around Castiel’s neck and pulls their heads together. Castiel doesn’t know what a “dumb face” is exactly so he glances at Dean for reference. Dean’s smiling in a big, clearly exaggerated manner with his eyes wide. It makes Castiel smile a little bit and he forgets to make his own dumb face.

“Hey, I think it turned out alright.” Dean angles the screen at Castiel. He’s facing the camera but his face is angled toward Dean and his eyes are clearly focused on Dean. There’s a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Yes, I think so.” Castiel thinks he likes the photo very much.

“Alright, well text that sucker to me and then I’ll get your number too.” Dean says on his way out. “This was fun Cas, we’ll figure out the next Christmas education day later.”

“Don’t you mean the next episode of ‘Extreme Makeover: Castiel’s Christmas Edition?’” Castiel parrots Dean’s earlier words back at him. Dean chuckles.

“Exactly. See you’re learning already! I’ll catch you later, Cas.” Dean leaves and Castiel stares at the picture on his phone before he texts it to the new number in his phone.


End file.
